Edge of the World
by Glum n Dumb Skittery
Summary: (rated for language, slash) [EPILOGUES: BLEED and BREATHE added] Things change, is what he said. Some things never change, is what he thought. So which is it? [COMPLETE 1.1.05]
1. Edge of the World

****

A/N: Drumline practice started and I'm still getting over sickness. Goodness. So writing will be scarce, and once I start summer school (Geometry, yay…), and Rookie Week…well, let's not look into the future. Arr. **All standard disclaimers apply.** One last thing, my plug for _Ourselves_: epilogue will be going up sometime in the next week or so. Yeah. There's an epilogue. ;; Anyways, enjoy, fic away.  
  
_"Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive."_ -Petra Arkanian; Ender's Shadow (Orson Scott Card)  
  
**Edge of the World**

The two sat at the edge of the world, staring out across the vast expanse of ocean spread before them in the Sun's dying light. The taller one gazed at his grinning friend, face glowing with the last rays of sunshine. "What's so funny?"  
  
The other shrugged lazily, pointing out at the horizon, a palette of colors scattered across both Sky and Sea. "See the red on the water?" A nod. "It's like the Sun cut his wrists in the bathtub and, over there, the Moon is just watching. Maybe she made him do it."   
  
The brunette paused for a moment, mouth slightly agape, (exposing large pearly-white teeth), before shaking his head. "Proof you have been rightfully proclaimed Glum & Dumb."  
  
"Said the sixteen-year old resident thumb-sucker," Skittery chuckled.  
  
Snitch stuck his tongue out in rebellious reply.  
  
"'Sides, it was just an observation."  
  
"Cynical and morose and twisted as it was…"  
  
"Hey, you didn't use to mind my cynicism. I'm hurt."  
  
Snitch chuckled but didn't say anything, instead laying back on mist-sprayed grass, staring up at the quickly darkening night sky. The first stars were blinking through the atmosphere and a feeling of peace washed through his being. The teen sighed. "Things change, Skitts," he whispered after a few moments.  
  
It was Skittery's turn to sigh loudly. "Yeah. They do." He clutched his knees loosely to his chest, the waves crashing against the rocks below. "I wonder why."  
  
"Well, what would happen if things didn't change?" Snitch closed his eyes and breathed in the salt air, awaiting an answer.  
  
"Well, for one, we wouldn't be here."  
  
A smile found its way to Snitch's lips. "True."  
  
"And, two, nothing's simple as black and white." Skittery settled down next to Snitch, head resting lightly on the other's chest, gentle and steady heartbeat within matching his own.  
  
The boy smiled. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"Means," the other mumbled, playing with a loose string on his sleeve, "that we'd look at everything the same and eventually die of boredom."  
  
The laughter came. "How depressing."  
  
"Wasn't deep enough for you, then?"  
  
"Only depressingly so."  
  
"That's livable."  
  
"You're hopeless."  
  
"But that's why you love me."  
  
"…yeah. That's why I love you."  
  
Stars appeared and darkness settled comfortably throughout the land. The (murderess) Moon settled herself, a luminescent orb, in the midst of it all, staring down at the two boys as they fell asleep in each other's arms.  
  
----  
  
**((_-and all the world's a stage-))_**

----

"Come on, Adam, we're gonna be late for class." Skittery was reluctantly pulled away from his locker by a pretty blonde in an oversized gray jacket into homeroom.  
  
"Remy, darling, you're my best friend, but you're about to break my wrist."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
The two took their seats just as the bell rang. School commenced. And Skittery ceased to exist as anyone but Adam.  
  
----  
  
"Heya, Snitch."  
  
"…hey, Race."  
  
"What's with the long face, get dumped?"  
  
"Just wiped, that's all."  
  
"If ya say so…"  
  
Snitch let his head fall to the wooden grain of the desk, ignoring the blunt pain that followed. He could hear Itey talking to Race about something that happened the other night on his date with drama-club queen, Rachel Hennings. On the other side were Snoddy and Swifty, both arguing loudly about randomness.   
  
"--break my wrist."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
Snitch didn't have to look up to know why Snoddy, Swifty, Racetrack _and_ Itey suddenly went silent. Class outcast, Adam, and his sole (middle-class-nothingness, neither social reject nor popular) friend, Remy Whithers. The wrench in his heart got the best of him and he raised his head slightly, letting his chin rest on the desk. Adam, eyes carefully avoiding any and everything, lifted his own head slightly before taking his seat. A flash of warm brown eyes connected with Snitch's own. But it was gone as quickly as it came.

Conversation resumed.

----

"Bonzo goes to Bitburg/then goes out for a cup of tea/As I watched it on TV/somehow it really bothered me!" Snoddy crooning - yes, crooning - the Ramones' "My Brain is Hanging Upside Down" at the top of his proverbial lungs, Itey and Swifty trying their best to ignore him, Racetrack occasionally shooting a piece of food at the singing teen in a sad attempt to shut him up, it seemed like a rather typical lunch hour. Snitch was hurriedly scribbling down his own pathetic attempt at rhyming, or rather, what was supposed to be, a narrative poem for AP Lit, next period.

"Hey, what rhymes with 'world'?"  
  
"Hurled?"  
  
"Unfurled."  
  
"Curled."  
  
"World!"  
  
The bell rang. Snitch cursed loudly, stuffing his papers into his bag. "Screw it."

----

_Why the hell are half my classes with _him?! Skittery pondered over this thought as he took his seat in the back. AP Literature was his best class, yet he hated going to it. It made sense. He didn't dare to look up as he heard Snitch and one of his friends walk in, laughing about something someone had said. It'd been bad enough he'd gone and made eye contact in homeroom.

"Settle down class. Take out your narrative poems." The class complied wordlessly, silence covered the atmosphere as Ms. Rebecca "Stonewall" Stone took her place at the front of the class. "Let's have a new face read their piece this time. Adam?"

Skittery nearly had the audacity to scoff. New face? He always had to read his writing. Ms. Stone was just holding a grudge for the time he accidentally tripped in the cafeteria and his tray and all its contents went flying onto her newly permed hair.

This is probably how Enjolras felt at the brink of battle, friendless because all his comrades are dead, and just before being shot, still with the passion to try to overcome all odds. Skittery nearly groaned out loud. _Les Miserables references??? Skittery, you have officially lost your marbles. Well, I never really liked marbles in the first place…_

He silently made his way to the front of the class, confused and trembling. Not to mention battling a mild case of schizophrenia. Palms sweating, he unfolded his poem from his pocket, the paper shaking like an autumn leaf still clutching to its branch before the big storm. He swallowed. And paused. It suddenly occurred to him that the one person he didn't want to hear the poem was in this very class. Staring at him very intently by now. Very, _very_ intently.   
  
…okay, until one of his friends threw a wad of paper at his head and he threw it back with a hushed, yet annoyed, burst of profanity.  
  
"Mr. Caspary!"  
  
Snitch's head snapped forward, eyes widened. Then, just as quickly, fell completely in defeat and misery. Skittery could clearly see him whisper the words "Oh, shit," beneath his breath.  
  
"Thank you for volunteering to go first. Adam, take a seat for now. You're next."  
  
Skittery made his way slowly back to his seat. Snitch made his way to the front. The two brushed past each other, decidedly ignoring the frustrating sparks of electricity that was sent rapid-fire up their arms as they touched.

Snitch sighed deeply, running a hand through thick mahogany locks and he stared blankly at his crumpled piece of folder paper. He cast a small glance at Stonewall. "It's kinda short," he said. The teacher shrugged nonchalantly and motioned for him to proceed, watching him with hawk eyes.

The brunette cleared his throat softly and began, keeping his eyes glued to that sheet of paper, as though his life depended on it. He knew at the end, if he made one wrong move or looked at the wrong person, it just might be.

"Umm…okay. Here goes…" His friends somewhere in the back snickered loudly.

"My favorite place to be is the edge of the world/Where sun and moon collide and the waves below are…curled," he paused to cough abruptly, eyes scanning the tattered paper, obviously skipping over some parts. He let out a loud rush of air before ramming the next two sentences together hurriedly, looking away from his paper, throwing up his arms and, well, improvising. "I couldn't figure out many other rhymes for world/Narrative poems are stupid, they make me want to hurl."

Skittery's attention had been piqued at the beginning, but now his face lay buried in his hands, shaking his head sadly. Even for an improv, that had been pretty sad.   
  
Raucous laughter broke out through the class and Snitch made his way back to his seat, blushing furiously and exchanging high-fives with his friends. Stonewall looked anything but amused, and called Skittery back up and told Snitch to see her after class.

Skittery carefully locked eyes with the floor and folded his paper back up, fingers running along the crease as he began. His words were spoken softly, almost mumbled, as he hurried through stanza after stanza. It was only until the end, that he became audible to all. "At the edge of the world's where we'll always meet/The edge of the world's the only place we can speak/The edge of the world's always where we part/The edge of the world's where I leave my heart."

"…what?" Whispers consumed the classroom. Two poems about the "edge of the world"? That was weird. Hardly coincidental, right? One of Snitch's friend leaned over to the boy, whispering questions and hitting the kid in the shoulder when he remained quiet.

Ms. Stone studied Skittery for a moment as he walked back to his seat, hesitating as he passed one student's desk. The student in it, carefully avoided eye contact, lips pursed, and silent.

She sighed. "Debbie Rockafeller, you next."  
  
----

He knew the other was behind him before the other spoke. "Why do we call this place the edge of the world?"

Snitch shrugged. He knew even if Skittery hadn't' seen it, he'd know the action had been completed anyway. "I don't know." There was silence for several seconds.  
  
"…why didn't you do your poem?"  
  
The taller male hesitated, confused by the sudden cold tone held in the voice of the other. "I guess I forgot."  
  
Skittery turned his head to look at Snitch, tear-streaked face illuminated by the last rays of the dying Sun. "Don't lie. You do enough of that at school." The sixteen-year old was speechless, words failing to register in his mind. "Why didn't you read what you had written? Do those jockstrap friends of yours have that much mental control over you? What kind of _friend_ are you?"

And lastly, just when Snitch thought the stinging blow of words had stopped, he heard the soft words that hurt the most. "…I thought you loved me."

The brunette watched in silence as Skittery choked on his own tears, then carelessly laughed, wiping tears away roughly with the back of his hand. "But, what do I know, right? I'm just the cynical, twisted outcast. Too low in the popularity-levels to be associated with in public. So, we meet out here eight miles from home at this stupid hill where no one ever comes anymore. Drive out, hop the fence, and walk for about twenty minutes -- no big deal. Edge of the World." He snorted. "Edge of the world my fucking ass… it's still a cliff no matter how you look at it. Because we're both damn cowards."  
  
Skittery paused then, swiping a hand under his sniffling nose. He cast burning chestnut-colored eyes on to Snitch. "But you know what the difference between you and me is?" He didn't wait for Snitch to answer. "I _meant_ what I said in my poem. Every damn word." With that, he turned and walked away, pausing in front of Snitch to thrust a crumpled up piece of paper in to his chest.

The boy didn't even stop to read it, reacting as quickly as humanly possible, and pivoting on his feet, racing toward the quickly retreating form of the other. "Skittery!" he cried, hoping against hope this wasn't happening. That this wasn't real. "SKITTERY!"

Things had changed after elementary school. Adam and Danny — Snitch and Skittery — had been stuck together at the hip since kindergarten. But when middle school came around, the two split. Snitch joined the basketball team and rose to jock-rankings. Skittery joined the Writing Club and locked himself away in the library. The summer before high school, however, they'd gone to summer camp together and discovered just how much they'd missed each other. And then high school started and it was middle school all over again.

Only then, racing after Skittery, did Snitch realize just how much it hurt to have lost a friend. And now, a lover.

His lungs bursting, eyes blurred with tears, he wasn't aware how far the both had them had been running until he heard the metallic clash of the gate and his torso. Snitch dropped to his knees and let the sobs wrack his body. This wasn't fair. His fingers tangling with the chain-link metal, he saw Skittery's body hunched over, hands resting on his knees, trembling with sobs as well, several meters away. The tears choking him, he wished he wasn't Snitch anymore. "Skittery…," he cried out weakly, fingers sliding from the rusted links down to the rough tufts of grass beneath him.

Somewhere in the distance, Skittery heard his name and realized how good it felt to be called that by someone who actually knew him. A nickname dubbed by the very person softly saying it. His burning lungs mirroring the flaming tears that covered his face and blazed in his eyes, he turned and looked back, heart-breaking all over again at the sight of his lover broken and kneeling, clinging to the rusty metal fence as though it was the only thing holding him up.

Snitch looked up. He didn't move as his gaze met Skittery's. But the other boy shook his head. _No_.  
  
Skittery sighed and headed back to his car. Words playing at the tip of the tongue. _My name's not Skittery, Danny. It's Adam. _He scrubbed at the still cascading droplets of salty water.

He could still hear Snitch crying out for him, his sobs and sniffles echoing through the hushed silence albeit the faint sound of waves crashing against the rocks. "Skittery…_please_! Don't leave me! I'm sorry!"

_Oh, Danny. It's too bad you're in love with Skittery. Because that's not who I am. At all._

And, this time, Skittery didn't look back.

****

TO BE CONTINUED…

A/N: …heh. Whoo. Okay, that took a life of its own about half way through…  
  
ARRGH! I started another multi-chapter fic, this wasn't supposed to happen! (Because I'm horrible at updating and one-shots are too lovely to give up… right?) Uhm, this has two alternate endings/sequels… yeah. One is 'Bleed' and one is 'Breathe'. You choose. Or read both. Erm… they will go up within the next two weeks. I've been having fun with them. I have a twisted mind. Whatever.  
  
To be Noted: The poems they were reading where spur of the moment. Har har, laugh at my lameness. ALSO: the Murderess Moon making the Sun slit His wrists thing was referenced from the book Tithe by Holly Black.  
  
Thanks for reading. Everyone go see HP3. Review, please! Cheers.


	2. Bleed

**A/N:** Sorry, I'm quite late on uploading this. Forgive me! This is one of two alternate endings/sequels to EDGE OF THE WORLD. This is BLEED. Welcome to it. All standard disclaimers apply. Enjoy.

Sorry, I'm quite late on uploading this. Forgive me! This is one of two alternate endings/sequels to EDGE OF THE WORLD. This is BLEED. Welcome to it. Enjoy. 

**PS: **Because of the first chapter's Les Mis reference, I kinda decided to plug it throughout. So lyrics don't belong to me. This applies for the first chapter and "Breathe" as well.

_"And now I'm all alone again/ Nowhere to go, no one to turn to/ Without a home, without a friend/ Without a face to say 'hello' to/ And now the night is here/ And I can make believe he's here…" _-On My Own"; Les Miserables

**Bleed (On My Own)**

Daniel "Snitch" Caspary wiped the fresh tears from his face. The sky had grown dark and the temperature unfriendly during the course of time he'd spent in front of the rusty gate at the "edge of the world". Ever since Skittery… no, _Adam_, had left, identical tears racing down his own pale cheeks.

Daniel "Snitch" Caspary wiped the fresh tears from his face. The sky had grown dark and the temperature unfriendly during the course of time he'd spent in front of the rusty gate at the "edge of the world". Ever since Skittery… no, , had left, identical tears racing down his own pale cheeks. 

Tears of anger, of frustration…of pain. The pain of rejection. The pain of being left in the shadows in all other places except here. At the edge of the world.

And somehow he knew he deserved those tears. Especially for Skittery.

He stood up and turned back, heading back to the cliffs.

----

The wind whistled loudly around him as he sat, teetering at the edge; dried rivers stained his face, eyes red-rimmed, skin almost transparent, even in the dim moonlight. Clouds hovered heavily in the darkened sky, growing larger, as though absorbing what meager light was left. Snitch had stopped crying and now stared out at the dark water spread before him. The vast and endless Father Sea, body churning and pounding fists and limbs mercilessly upon the shore with the threat of the fast-coming storm.

"It's my fault," he whispered quietly to himself, staring blindly out at the waves. "It's all my fault." He swallowed back a sob. He shook his head. "…my fault."

_Snitch… _

His head snapped to his left, body twisting around, eyes frantically scanning the landscape. "Skit — A-Adam?" A gasping sob managed to escape, eyelids fell shut, and Snitch fell into darkness.

"Adam, I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_. I'm so, so, so _sorry_. Come back to me…" And he could imagine the gentle, yet strong hand that would fall on his shoulder, the lithe arms that would wrap around his torso and the warm body that would press against his own. His whispered words would reach the ears of the other and the storm would become miles away. The rain would be nothing but happy tears. The wind, soft breaths hitting skin. The thunder would be nothing but their heartbeats pounding away in unison. The lightning becomes the sun rising slowly over the horizon. And it had been just another night at the Edge of the World with Adam. _His _Adam.

The water that descended from the Heavens stained and rushed down his face as he gazed intently, even longingly, at a person who was not there. Silent words dropped from his lips, and an outstretched hand reached for his invisible lover. He noticed nothing else. He _knew_ nothing else. Maybe he needed nothing else.

So there he sat, at the Edge of the World, teetering on the cliff's edge precariously, legs hanging off the decline; rocks and salt water crashed against each other, as though an invitation to the mourning teenager. But if he heard their calls, he made no show of giving it thought. For all he knew then was his invisible lover and he, trapped within the eye of the storm, all inside his head.

----

Driving down an empty road, back towards the city, Adam "Skittery" Goorjian removed his hand from the wheel momentarily to angrily wipe at yet more tears, the tears that didn't seem to ever want to stop. His eyes ached fiercely from the loss of so much of the liquid life, and his vision blurred slightly. Cursing himself vehemently, he violently jerked the wheel and pulled over to the side of the road. It was there he allowed his forehead to drop to the steering wheel, and the sobs that wracked his body echoed its vibrations through his very soul. The same question haunted him, over and over again, as the hours passed.

_What have I _done?

----

A crash of thunder did not faze Snitch, nor did the lightning that followed, striking the shore somewhere in the distance below. His lips moved, just barely, as he remembered the words to a song he'd once heard on the radio. And he felt the all too familiar painful twist in his chest, even as he forced himself to remain in what was not real. "And I'm sorry for all the times I forgot to imply something in between the lines. And I'm sorry if my heart breaking ruined your day. Oh well, sometimes it be that… way…" The rain continued falling, and somewhere just before him, a shadow fell and his eyes unclouded.

"…Adam?"

----

"Danny…"

Somewhere along a lonely highway, as icy raindrops descended from clouds that pulsated angrily above, a '73 Volkswagen dredged itself from the dirt lane, (now so doused with rain water it had become cocoa-colored sludge), it had pulled over into well over an hour and a half ago. It did a complete 180 degree turn and, tires squealing, pealed back up the beat-up road it'd come from, pot-hole jumps and all.

"What have I done?"

----

Snitch extended his hand, certain the winged being before him was very, very real. A suffocating veil fell over his eyes once again, his own internal Mirror of Erised, showing him his heart's deepest desire:

"Adam!"

----

Skittery tumbled out of the driver's seat, throwing open the car door without remember to unbuckle his seat belt. "Fuck," he whispered, frantically fumbling with the damned buckle. The clasp coming undone, the interior of his car soaked through because of the open door, and the teen oblivious to it all, he looked up. Not missing a single step, he leapt rather dramatically from his vehicle and made for the chain-link fence, jumping it effortlessly, ignoring the hot pricks that now poured blood down his palms.

A twenty-minute walk awaited him.

"Dammit, Danny. Don't you fucking _dare_ do anything stupid."

Maybe ten minutes if he sprinted.

"Not like me."

----

"Why didn't you tell me it hurt so much before?"

Danny's hand grazed an imaginary face, swollen with tears, and almost angelic; his hand cupped air.

"Why am I so _stupid_?"

His fingers curled inward, trying to grasp someone who was simply not there.

"I don't get it."

His hand fell.

"I know I'm not the one you need. And I won't take advantage of you. Not anymore.

----

"Oh God, Danny — please be there."

----

"I'm sorry."

----

And Snitch reached forward again, smiling as the Adam with wings extended his arms, face full of light.

----

The storm raged violently. Swept up in it, two boys — teens, _kids_ — raced forward. Time seemed to move backwards as their bodies darted across the terrain of rough grass and the sea, so large a distance below, seemed to open up expectantly.

----

And how Snitch wanted — no, needed — that embrace.

He leaned.

----

Skittery fell, traction no longer existent through the slick grass and mud. Scrambling desperately to his feet — half-crawling, half-running — he made for the peak of the last hill, the barrier between all else and the edge of the world.

He reached the top.

Clothes clinging to his gaunt frame, hair plastered to his face, eyes opened wide in imminent shock, he screamed.

Time shattered.

----

…_just a little further…_

----

"DANNY!"

----

Snitch's outstretched arms faltered then, and the rest of his body abruptly lurched. Even while, several hundred feet behind him, Skittery ran towards him, lips forming a confession of love, an apology, _anything_ to keep gravity at bay for just a moment longer.

Or, just maybe, to keep peace of mind his last words, ever, to Daniel "Snitch" Caspary were words meant to heal. Not wound.

----

Snitch's eyes opened wide as he fell, tearing up with the rush of wind that met them, as emptiness caught him and suddenly his stomach was in his throat, and the ocean was drawing nearer, slowly but steadily. Turning his head back, gazing at the spot he'd once been in, he felt the edge of his lips twitch, quivering.

He smiled at the sight.

----

Skittery barely saw the cliff's end and stopped just at its edge, balancing precariously upon it, the precipice between earth and air.

The Edge of the World.

Somewhere in him his heart screamed, bleeding the sound of ultimate suffering. Externally, however, an almost inhuman, animalistic cry ripped from his throat, vocal cords rattling as the swell of grief — (Danny!) — of frustration — (he'd been so fucking _close_) — of _loss_ — (and he hadn't been able to do a goddamn thing) — became too much a burden for even his body to hold.

It was all too much for just one being. He knew then not even a hundred — no, a _thousand_ could endure such sorrow.

Somewhere, deep down, a part of him wished to plummet to the sea's welcoming hold, to throw himself off the cliff right that moment and join Danny, and the both of them would meet the wrath of Neptune head-on. But, even in his grief-stricken state of being, rationality won out. Or was it fear?

Skittery fell to his knees. Clumps of grass gripped tightly in his fists, mud squelching beneath him, the storm raging around him, forceful as ever — he wept.

There was a time — he told himself, while tears and rain were still undistinguishable from one another — when not even logic or fear could've stopped me from following Danny Caspary.

Not even into death.

"YOU _COWARD_!" he screamed with the prolonged howl of the wind, words coming without thought. "Fucking _JERK_!" The sobs cut through his jagged, angry words.

_We're both damn cowards._

We both ran away. And look where that got us. Back here at the Edge of the World.

Alone.

----

It was the next morning, at 6:29 to be precise, that a skinny, deathly pale, and shivering young man, caked in mud and grass from head-to-toe, face blotchy and eyes bloodshot to hell, the remnants of mucus smeared across his face, walked into the District 49 Police Department.

It was a female cop, who had a lot of years under her belt and, therefore, pulled seniority that particular morning, who heard the boy out. Or, at least, she tried to.

"He's dead," was all he'd say.

"What's your name son?"

"He's dead."

"Son, what happened?"

"He's dead."

"I can't help you until you tell me what happened. Now what's your name?"

"He's _dead_."

"_Who's_ dead?"

And that's when the young man burst into inconsolable tears, and then, only minutes later, into uncontrollable, hysterical laughter.

"I would've followed him to the grave!" he screamed.

The female officer felt her brows furrow, both in confusion and sympathy. "Sir, calm down. Calm down! _Randy_! I need some help here!"

"But not anymore…"

And once again the youth switched gears, the maniacal laughter subsiding, slipping into an eerie, calmed monotonous pace.

"Randy!" the officer continued to call, unsure whether this kid was mentally unstable, or what?

"Now he's dead."

And the tears were back. A towel was draped around the boy's shoulders, steaming coffee in a pink mug clasped tightly in his trembling hands.

"I still love him, you know?"

The officers exchanged looks. The boy didn't miss a beat.

"Don't you dare think what I know you're thinking. Don't you _dare_. Because it was people like you that made him want to hide it. We both were scared. Fucking cowards. And I still love him."

He choked, tears burning his eyes into a blinding pain as he coughed. Too many damned tears.

_I still _love _him. _

"But I couldn't follow him. Not this time."

The cup fell to the floor, flying outwards and landing in hundreds of pieces of rose pink. The boy lowered his head into his grass-stained hands. The words haunted him.

"_Things change, Skitts."_

"Dammit," he whispered. "My name's _Adam_, Danny. You wouldn't even let me hear you say that."

_There was a time…_

----

Somewhere, in the calming currents of the once storm-enraged sea, a small voice whispered back:

_Things change_.

**-fin-**

_"But there are dreams that cannot be/ And there are storms we cannot weather/ I had a dream my life would be/ So different from this hell I'm living/ So different now from what it seemed/ Now life has killed/ The dream I dreamed." -_ "I Dreamed a Dream"; Les Miserables

**A/N:** Didn't like this ending? Onward to BREATHE. Feel the need to vent at me for writing such crappy, cliché angst? Review!


	3. Breathe

**A/N:** Again, my apologies for my being late on uploading. Here we go. All standard disclaimers apply.

Again, my apologies for my being late on uploading. Here we go. 

_"The rain can't hurt me now/ This rain will wash away what's past/ And you will keep me safe/ And you will keep me close/ I'll sleep in your embrace at last/ The rain that brings you here is Heaven-blessed!" -_ "A Little Fall of Rain"; Les Miserables

**Breathe (A Little Fall of Rain)**

Adam "Skittery" Goorjian wiped the fresh tears from his face. The sky had grown dark and the temperature unfriendly during the long journey home on the winding country road, back from the "edge of the world." Ever since he'd left Danny… no, _Snitch_, with identical tears racing down his own pale cheeks.

Adam "Skittery" Goorjian wiped the fresh tears from his face. The sky had grown dark and the temperature unfriendly during the long journey home on the winding country road, back from the "edge of the world." Ever since he'd left Danny… no, , with identical tears racing down his own pale cheeks. 

Tears of desperation, of rejection… of fear. The fear of losing an ally. The fear of surviving in a world of masks, in all other places except there. At the edge of the world.

And somehow he knew no one deserved those tears. Especially not Snitch.

He turned on his blinker, a new route in mind.

----

The wind whistled softly around him as he sat parked in the driveway of the Caspary house. Dried rivers stained his face, eyes red-rimmed, skin heavily flushed and blotchy, even in the dying light of day. Clouds passed serenely overhead, turning translucent in what meager light was left. Skittery had stopped crying and now stared intently at the dark, empty house set before him. The narrow and lifeless King Street, houses emptied and voiceless, was filled with nameless souls wandering with the same dread he felt at being the only one left, waiting.

"It's my fault," he whispered solemnly to himself, letting the words come, louder. "It's all my fault." He swallowed the rising lump in his throat. He shook his head. "…my fault."

"Skit— A-Adam?"

His head snapped to his left, body twisting around from his seat on the car's hood, eyes frantically scanning the street's opening. "Snitch…"

The boy exiting the bus at the cul-de-sac's mouth stopped, stalk-still. The streetlights came on.

"Danny, I — " I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_. I'm so, so, so sorry.

But the words wouldn't come.

All he could think of then were the gentle, yet strong hands, broad shoulders, the lithe arms and chiseled torso, the warm body that used to be his to hold. The whispered words that used to be theirs alone, the tears they'd never spoken of, the slow, simple breaths of sleep mingling, heartbeats pounding away in unison — the sun suddenly disappeared beneath the horizon — and it felt like he was just slipping into another night at the edge of the World with Danny. _His_ Danny.

"You sick bastard."

It began to drizzle.

The water that descended from the Heavens dripped and trickled down his face as he gazed intently, even longingly, at a person who did not want him to be there. No words leapt from Skittery's lips, and an outstretched hand reached fro his lover. He noticed nothing else. He _knew_ nothing else. Maybe he needed nothing else.

So there they stood, so far from the Edge of the World, teetering on the brink of redemption precariously, legs unwilling to move; water droplets and cement crashed against each other, as though a reminder to the teens of the sharp remarks that had been exchanged. But if they heard the indication of past inflictions, they made no show of giving it thought. For all they knew then were their angered (once?) lovers and themselves, trapped in a storm of deceit, all within their heads.

Skittery watched as Snitch turned. And ran.

----

He sprinted back out of the empty street, in his attempt to get anywhere, to get away from Skittery, and remove himself from a situation he knew would only bring back more tears, the tears that, once they got started, didn't ever want to stop. His eyes ached fiercely from the loss of so much of the liquid life already, and his vision blurred slightly.

Cursing himself vehemently, he violently jerked his leg up, feeling the painful stretch of his muscles as they tried to accommodate his sudden need for speed. He kept running, not even knowing why. It was then, as his body raced forward, that he allowed his mind to stop trying to make sense, and the confused sobs that wracked his body echoed their vibrations through his very soul. The same question haunted him, over and over again, as the seconds passed.

_What did I do to deserve this?_

----

The crashing of trash cans rolling into the street did not faze Skittery, nor did the marred meeting of skin on pavement that followed before he was back on his feet and chasing after Snitch. His lips parted, just barely, as he tore after the other teen, and suddenly he remembered the words to a song he'd once heard on the radio. "And I'm sorry if I'm bringing you down. And I'm sorry if I caused you pain. Oh well, sometimes it be that…way."

The rain continued falling, and, somewhere before him, the streetlights came on and his eyes unclouded.

"Danny?"

----

"Adam…"

Somewhere on the corner of King and Beretania Street, as tiny, warm raindrops descended from clouds that lingered languidly above, two boys came to a halt between the tangerine flood of the streetlights.

"…what did I do to deserve this?"

Skittery's hand shot out instinctively, certain the fragile boy before him was very, very hurt. And not just physically either. The suffocating veil over his eyes lifted, his own internal Mirror of Erised revealing his heart's most selfish, deepest desire, the one thing he wanted to call his very own:

"Danny."

Snitch tumbled to the ground, falling abruptly and without warning, as his lower body suddenly went weightless, a terrible shudder of weakness wracking his knees. "Fuck," he whispered, fingers clenching tightly against the gravelly, tarred road. The wet ebony embedded itself within the taut flesh of his knuckles, the day-heated ground soaking through steadily with the light rainfall, and the teen oblivious to it all, he looked up. Not missing a single beat, he regained his ground rather dramatically from his previous position of defenselessness and fought back the memories of clinging to the chain-link fence, of trying to pretend it was all a dream, pricking tiny holes that sent hot blood pouring down his palms to keep himself from suicide.

An ignorant, frustrated lover awaited him.

"Dammit, Adam, why the fuck did you have to go and do something so _stupid_?"

Or, maybe it was now an _ex_-lover.

"Just like me."

There was a long pause.

"Why didn't you tell me it _hurt_ so much before?"

Snitch's left hand covered half of his shamed face, swollen with tears, and quite lacking the mask of confidence; his right hand unclenched on the black-top.

"Why am I so _stupid_?"

His fingers curled inward once again, instinctively, as though trying to grasp someone who was simply not there.

"I don't get it."

His left hand fell.

"I know I'm not the one you need. And I won't take advantage of you." Voice completely monotonous, he finally risked a glance at Skittery. "Not anymore."

"Oh, God." Skittery scoffed in disbelief. "Danny — "

"I'm sorry."

And Snitch leaned forward, unwilling to watch as Skittery's shoulders slumped, face falling indefinitely.

Sometimes knowing a person for so long a time can be hard.

"I've known you since I can remember," Snitch admitted to a silent Skittery. "You've always been there." He sighed. "Maybe that's why…"

Maybe that's why you're the chosen one, he told himself. The one my heart so quickly leapt towards, the one who makes my heartbeat race, my mouth work awkwardly, my motions clumsy — me. More than just lust, less than misrouted passion, more discomforting than infatuation, but never a burden:

"I think I love you. And I thought…"

I thought telling you would make everything okay again, he admitted to himself. But now I feel nothing. I'm numb, Snitch thought, feeling his chest constrict.

"And all I can do is run away from you. The one person I never wanted to run from."

Skittery hesitated, then looked down at his shoes. "I thought you hated cynicism." And smiled, if only just slightly.

Time seemed to move backwards as the two boys — teens, _kids_ — faced each other reluctantly, shyly, on the backdrop of the black tar road below and the night sky, so large an expanse above, seemed to open up expectantly.

And how Snitch wanted — no, needed — to be set free.

He stood.

Skittery hesitated, reality no longer existent on this silent street and rainy night. Stepping slowly forward — half-hesitant, half-hurried — he made for the broken soul of Daniel Caspary, the only thing that mattered now, whether it was here or at the edge of the world.

He stood a mere half a foot before him.

Damp clothes clinging to his gaunt frame, perspiration and rain water dotting his face, eyes tired and drooping, he smiled.

Time shattered.

----

_Screw freedom…_

----

"Danny…"

----

Snitch's resolution faltered then, and the rest of his body abruptly lurched. Even while, several hundred feet away, a car full of his friends from school turned onto his street and passed them by, full of curious faces plastered to the windows, all he could do was form, with his lips, a weak confession of love, an apology, anything it could be interpreted as, anything they could've wanted it to have been to keep reality at bay for just another moment longer.

Or, just maybe, out of complete desperation to convey to Adam "Skittery" Goorjian that this kiss was meant to, above all else, heal. Not wound.

Skittery's eyes fluttered shut and it felt like he was falling, eyes tearing up with the rush of emotions that met him, as taut arms caught him, and suddenly his stomach was in his throat, and reality was drawing nearer, slowly but steadily. Pulling away, turning his head around, he gazed at the spot, consumed in shadow, he'd once been in. He felt the edge of his lips twitch, quivering.

He smirked at the sight.

Snitch barely paid heed to the group of boys that had piled out of the Nissan, recently parked in his driveway, the boys who stopped just several feet from the couple. And what else could they be to those who had just witnessed one boy kissing the other? The world seemed to stop, time balancing precariously, the precipice between groundlessness and flight.

The true Edge of the World.

Which do you choose, after all? When it really comes down to it. Denial and friendship or bigotry and love?

Somewhere in him, Snitch's heart screamed, bleeding the sound of one who is torn between two loves. Externally, however, the boy cleared his throat, vocal cords swelling with the growth of fear — (what're they going to do to Adam? To me?) — of frustration — (what gives them the right to judge us?) — of _desperation_ — (and why isn't it possible to keep them all?) — became too much a burden for even his body to hold.

It was all too much for just one being. He knew then not even a hundred — no, a _thousand_ could endure such pain.

Somewhere, deep down, a part of him wished to disappear into the sky's welcoming embrace, to defy the laws of gravity right that moment and fly away with Adam, and the both of them would meet the wrath of the gods head-on. But even in his state of panic rationality won out. Or was it courage at last?

Snitch beamed brightly, although Skittery had long since side-stepped out of arm's reach. "Hey guys."

Snoddy's face contorted. "'Hey, guys'? Snitch, man, what are you doing with this…_freak_?"

Immediately, Snitch's eyes swiveled and met Skittery's with determination. Skittery studied the ground.

Not all hope was lost.

"What's your problem, man?" Racetrack murmured irritably around the cigarette he was trying to light. The heel of his palm pushed at Snoddy's cheek. "Lay off. Let's just go." He didn't want for a response before sending a wink Snitch's way and heading back for the Nissan.

Swifty looked away, sighed, and followed Race.

Standing still in the darkness, Snoddy continued to glare, confused and angry. It was Itey who waited until Snoddy had finally vented his weak curses and disbelief, (to the extent of "Fuck this, man"), and had gone back to the car before even looking at the two.

The Hispanic lifted a brow. "You gonna tell me?"

Skittery stole a glance at Snitch, eyes devoid of fear, filled with a steely cold hardness.

Snitch smiled reassuringly back at him.

There was a time — he told himself while there still was a friend and a lover on his side — when he would dive straight into something else, just to forget, to run from it all.  
Even death.

But not this time.

"Hey, Itey?" he murmured softly, stepping forward, reaching out and linking his fingers tightly with Skittery's along the way. He met his friend's eyes. "You ever meet my boyfriend?"

The words came without thought.

Itey's eyes moved to meet Skittery's and he looked at him a long time. His arm finally extended, palm sideways. "Call me Eli."

Skittery shook. "Adam. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to finally meet _you_," Itey chuckled. His dark eyes crackled with amusement. He nodded. "Good for you," he uttered softly. "Good for you." Scratching the back of his head, he turned as the others honked the horn loudly, beckoning him back. "Well, I guess I'll see you guys in school tomorrow then." He flashed them one last smile. "'Night!" Itey started to turn, only to pause slightly and step forward, throwing his arms around Snitch and stepping into the ring of light.

The taller boy, caught by surprise, stumbled before patting the other on the back with his free hand.

Itey — Eli — grinned. "_Entiendo_," he uttered softly. _I understand. _He pulled back, jerking his chin in Skittery's general direction. "Take care of him, huh?"

And then he, along with the others, was gone.

Snitch grinned as Skittery gave his hand a squeeze and they stood encased in that gaudy circle of light.

_Not this time_, he thought.

This time we held our ground, wedidn't run. And look where that got us. Away from the Edge of the World.

Together.

----

It was the next morning, at 7:29 to be precise, that a slightly built, slightly tanned, and entirely content young man, clad in Nike high-tops, blue jeans, and a baggy gray sweater from L.A., walked into Farrington High.

It was none other than Rebecca Stone, whom the students had nicknamed "Stonewall" for being such a hard-ass, the AP Lit teacher, who witnessed this certain young man removing his sweatshirt at his locker as she exited the Faculty Room. A permed-curly lock of hair fell into her eyes as she lowered her head, fingers carefully hiding her up-turned, Pretty in Pink-stained lips.

Briskly as she dared, she walked past him, heels clicking on the tiled floor, echoing in the near empty hallways. "Good morning, Mr. Caspary. You're early today."

Snitch grinned, finishing shoving his jacket in his locker, slamming the door shut with glee. "I'm always early, Ms. Stone! What're you talking about?"

The teacher shook her head and rolled her eyes. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a wrinkled piece of computer paper, the neatly-typed words smeared, and, what looked like pancake syrup stained the bottom edges. "Your narrative poem was very well-written."

"Really?" The boy took it, skeptical.

"No." Stonewall smiled. "But it was decent. A little editing and I'd say we could make a poet out of you yet. Now why didn't you read your version when I asked you to?"

"Stage fright?"

Stonewall snorted, then quickly regained her composure. "You realize I'm going to give you a chance to redeem yourself today in class by reading your _actual_ poem?"

"Uhh…"

"_Will_ you, rather, should be my question." Stonewall smirked. "Or will you allow fear to rule you, your life, and… your grade?"

Snitch reeled in shock for but a moment before laughing out loud, grinning toothily. "Ms. Stone, would I be wearing this shirt if I was being controlled by this so-called fear?"

Rebecca Stone stole one last glance at his shirt, willing herself not to smile, to keep her expression positively neutral. "I suppose not. Fifth period, then, Mr. Caspary. Be there."

As she left, Snitch wasn't surprised to turn and find one Adam "Skittery" Goorjian watching him, in clear amusement from his locker on the opposite side of the hall, not too far away. He walked towards him.

"Nice shirt."

Snitch smirked, fingering the hem of the light blue shirt, which boasted a giant arched rainbow across the front, over a large purple triangle. "What, this old thing?"

"When'd you steal it from my closet?"

"Last night, when you were using the bathroom, and your mom was chastising your dad for blowing up the roast beef in the oven, and your dog was asleep."

"Klepto."

"Thank you."

"Some things never change, do they?"

Snitch only smiled. A half an hour later, as the warning bell rang and the two headed for homeroom, Skittery stopped, only five feet from the door.

Snitch's brow furrowed.

"Well, we can't go in together, now can we, Danny?" Skittery teased, half-heartedly, moving his gaze to the floor.

Snitch rolled his eyes, grasping Skittery's hand firmly in his own. In response to the other's questioning look, Snitch merely shifted his backpack on his shoulder and opened the door to homeroom just as the final bell rang.

"Things change, Adam."

**-fin-**

_"The skies begin to clear/ And I'm at rest/ A breath away from where you are/ I've come home from so far/ So don't you fret, M'sieur Marius/ I don't feel any pain/ A little fall of rain can hardly hurt me now…" _- "A Little Fall of Rain"; Les Miserables

**A/N: **And that concludes EDGE OF THE WORLD. Thanks for reading, please drop me a review if you have the time! Cheers.


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